The Final Decision
by Allyson
Summary: Doyle must make a choice about his future Set before 'Hero.'


Title: The Final Decision  
  
Author: Allyson  
  
Email address: calavicci21@slayme.com  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Disclaimer: This story is an original work of amateur fiction and purely just for fun. All characters are the property of Joss Whedon and no infringements on copyrights are intended.  
  
Spoilers: Set before "Heroes".  
  
Summary: Doyle receives a vision that causes him to re-evaluate his future.  
  
  
  
For just one moment Cordelia was happy.  
  
She knew it wouldn't last long but she had promised herself to savor it all until it ended. The celebrity star-studded party was in full swing. They had been invited along so that Angel could discuss payment details with their client, who was hosting the party, after clearing out his vampire-infested studio. Cordelia hadn't seen Angel since they had arrived but then she hadn't been looking out for him. Using her winning smile she'd managed to hook up with a very handsome casting agent and had started to get him interested into looking out for any film parts for her. Things just couldn't get much better for her.  
  
She was laughing in response to something the casting agent had said, when she felt a hand tug on her arm. Turning, she found Doyle standing next to her. He still looked as out of place and uncomfortable as he had when they arrived two hours before.  
  
"Not now, Doyle," she said, with restrained patience. "I'll meet you back at the bar in ten minutes."  
  
"C'mon, Cordy," he said to her, staring hard at her companion. "Angel's waiting outside with the car. Time to go."  
  
Cordelia looked disappointed. Reluctantly, she said goodbye to the casting agent after handing him one of Angel's business cards, and allowed Doyle to escort her out of the party and into the night air. Angel was already sitting in his car, outside the door, waiting for them. He didn't seem to notice Cordelia's disappointment at leaving. He looked just as relieved as Doyle did to be going.  
  
"I can't wait to get back," said Doyle. "I don't know about you two, but I'm starving."  
  
"I don't see why we had to leave so early," pouted Cordelia. "I was about to clinch a movie deal that could have put me on the front cover of every major magazine in town and make me a mega-movie star."  
  
Neither Doyle nor Angel seemed too put out by the thought.  
  
"Don't worry, Ce-Ce," reassured Doyle. "You'll be famous one day. You've got the talent, why the rush?"  
  
Cordelia gave him a withering stare but didn't reply.  
  
"The party would have been fun but the job was finished," Angel told her, kindly. "But we have to get back to the office in case a new client should phone up."  
  
Cordelia snorted derisively. "Whatever," she replied, knowing a lame response when she heard one. "Nice try Angel, but you know nobody phones are office for help. Our business relies on Doyle and those weird vision thingys he gets."  
  
Angel had to agree with her. They weren't exactly a booming trade. But if it meant not being invited to swank parties like tonight then Angel believed he could live with that.  
  
"They'll be other parties," reassured Doyle, attempting to cheer Cordelia up. "With other casting agents."  
  
Cordelia pouted but remained quiet. The rest of the journey back to Angel's apartment was spent in silence. As they entered the building, Angel went straight to his inner office to thumb through some books on his desk, while Doyle went straight to the fridge to find something to eat. Cordelia dropped her coat and handbag onto her desk, only glancing briefly at the pile of unpaid bills next to her computer. She sighed loudly before slumping down into her chair.  
  
"Why do I stay here?" she asked out loud, to noone in particular. "Why do I put up with you two? Why do I put up with these unsociable hours that are critically damaging my chances of stardom?"  
  
Doyle paused to look over at her from his inventory of the fridge. In his hand he held a small tub of double chocolate chip ice cream. He'd heard Cordelia reel off the same speech a dozen times before and his answer had never changed.  
  
"Because of the thrills and spills of adventure that Angel leaves in his wake," he told her. "How many girls can boast that on their resume to eternal fame?"  
  
As usual, she wasn't the least impressed.  
  
"Doyle, you're not helping," she warned him.  
  
Doyle shrugged his shoulders and turned to close the fridge door, looking for a spoon.  
  
"Not that I expect you to understand," Cordelia continued to say, as she stood up and began pacing. "After all, you're hardly movie star potential. You see? This is where I'm going wrong. I'm mingling with the wrong type of people. Where's Brad Pitt? Where's Steven Spielberg?"  
  
Doyle groaned and then his spoon clattered to the floor, followed by the splat of ice cream on the carpet. Cordelia turned to snap at him for making a mess, but instead found Doyle collapsed onto his knees clutching his head in agony.  
  
"Doyle?"  
  
The Irishman looked at her with blood shot eyes and sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, before his heads was thrown back; spasms racking through his body.  
  
"Aaagghhh!"  
  
"Angel!" screamed Cordelia, in fright. Never has she seen Doyle in such pain before. "Angel!"  
  
"What is-?"  
  
Angel's voice died in his throat as he entered the room and saw Doyle writhing on the floor in agony, knocking things over in his path. Angel rushed over to him and tried to pin Doyle's arms to the floor in an attempt to calm him.  
  
"Doyle!" he said, frantically. "Doyle, are you okay? Doyle?"  
  
Cordelia made a grab for Doyle's thrashing legs, doing her best not to get hit. She looked over at Angel and saw that he was as worried as she was.  
  
"Angel, what's going on?" she asked. "Why isn't it over?"  
  
"I don't know," Angel relied, honestly. "I've never seen him like this before. Just try to keep him still until it's over."  
  
"Come on, Doyle," pleaded Cordelia. "Stop it all ready."  
  
As if answering Cordelia's wish, Doyle shuddered one last time before his head lolled back onto the floor limply.  
  
"Oh my God," murmured Cordelia, in shock. "Is he-?"  
  
"He's unconscious," Angel told her. "I don't like this. Help me get him onto the couch."  
  
Struggling, they managed to lift him onto the small office couch with Cordelia's jacket propped underneath his head. Cordelia found a damp cloth to wipe Doyle's forehead while Angel checked his pulse.  
  
"He's got a fever," Cordelia told him. "A bad one."  
  
Angel was at a loss of what to do. This had never happened before and he couldn't explain why it had happened now. And he hated not knowing.  
  
"Maybe we should consult a doctor," suggested Cordelia.  
  
"I don't think that's a good idea," disagreed Angel, frowning in thought. "They might ask if there were any symptoms leading up to his fever and why he's suddenly unconscious, when he was fine five minutes ago. We can't tell any doctors that the cause was a violent vision given by the Powers That . . ."  
  
He trailed off in thought, aware that Cordelia was watching him suspiciously.  
  
"What?" she demanded.  
  
It was a while before Angel replied, "The Powers That Be. That's it."  
  
"What's it?" responded Cordelia, in growing frustration.  
  
"I need to visit the Oracles. Maybe, they could tell me what's happening to Doyle," Angel explained, as he momentarily left the room to retrieve his trademark leather duster. H re-entered the room, shouldering on his coat, saying, "Stay with Doyle and I'll be back soon. If there's any change while I'm gone, phone me on my cell."  
  
Cordelia nodded in understanding, already returning to Doyle's side. "Good luck," she called after him, as Angel left the office.  
  
The blinding white light faded and Angel stood facing the two Oracles expectantly.  
  
"Step forward lower being," said the woman, with a kindly smile. "What have you brought us?"  
  
Angel glanced briefly down at the ornate Georgian china vase before tossing it effortlessly towards the Oracles. She caught it easily and turned it over and over in her hands, inspecting it.  
  
"Modern but still beautiful," she commented.  
  
"Why do you seek us?" asked her male companion.  
  
"Doyle had a vision. A strong one. But he's been unconscious since and I don't know what the vision was about," Angel replied. "This has never happened before. Do you know what it means?"  
  
Both Oracles paused with their heads cocked to one side slightly, listening to something that Angel couldn't hear, before continuing to pace.  
  
"His vision serves his own purpose," the woman said. "It does not concern your cause in life. His is a different destiny."  
  
"He's in pain," responded Angel. "I need to know if there's anything I can do to help him."  
  
"Is his suffering causing pain to others? Is it obstructing your fight against the evils of other worlds? Will it matter if he sleeps still in an hours time?" asked the male, without obvious interest in whether Angel replied or not.  
  
"It matters to me," responded Angel, softly.  
  
"Alan Francis Doyle will be returned to you," assured the woman, as she and her companion turned away from Angel and began to walk away. "His path runs separately to yours."  
  
"But, what-?"  
  
"Be gone lesser being," the man said, without turning back. "Do not continue to bother the Powers That Be on such trivial personnel matters."  
  
Angel's protest died in his throat as the male Oracle flicked a hand back at him, throwing Angel through the barrier behind him and back through the Gateway of the Lost Souls. The flash of white light faded as Angel landed back underneath LA's post office, still searching for answers.  
  
Doyle couldn't feel anything.  
  
After the mind shattering vision he had received he'd allowed himself to succumb to blissful unconsciousness. The vision of his oncoming death at the hands of the Scourge was both frightening and sobering. He was still unsure if it was real and why the Powers That be had sent it to him. Were they warning him so it could be avoided or were they preparing him for his inevitable end? He didn't know and he hoped he wouldn't find out anytime soon.  
  
His fevered mind began to wander. Flashes of his past flickered before him. First came images of childhood, his mother, graduating with a teacher's degree and the happier times he'd spent with Harry when they'd first got married. Memories that pained him more quickly flashed by into a blur until they began to slow down again for Doyle to realize what the images were. The first time he'd been sent to meet Angel by the Powers That Be and he'd been introduced to Cordelia Chase. Though she seemed oblivious to him other than a friend with the power of visions, Doyle had fallen in love with her at first sight. Undeterred by her obvious lack of interest in her, Doyle had promised himself to look after Cordelia see that no harm would come to if he could help it. That's when it hit him. If he didn't sacrifice his life when the Scourge arrived, not only would lots of innocent people perish but so would Angel and Cordelia. The thought of the two people closest to him dying because of his unwillingness to help stop it sickened him. He knew when it all boiled down to it, he could never let that happen. How could he live with himself if he let them die? The image of Cordelia smiling one of her most winning smiles at him continued to torture Doyle until everything faded away to black.  
  
Cordelia re-entered the outer office with a fresh cold compress in her hands. Doyle was still right where she'd left him twenty minutes before, lying unconscious on the couch. In an effort to make him a little more comfortable, Cordelia had replaced her folded up jacket from underneath Doyle's head with one of Angel's pillows from downstairs and covered him with a light blanket. Even though Doyle had a high temperature he was shivering uncontrollably. Cordelia wasn't sure what to do; she'd never had to look after an ill person before. Especially when she didn't know why he was ill. Moving over to the couch, Cordelia nudged Doyle over slightly so that she could perch on the edge of the seat. Doyle never even flinched at the movement. Gently pushing the hair away from his fevered brow, Cordelia realized for the first time that she'd never really looked at Doyle properly. Whenever, she saw him at the office he either hid behind his shy sparkling Irish eyes or taking refuse behind the funny faces he pulled. Now, she was seeing Doyle naturally for the first time. He looked younger with an innocent face and fewer worry lines. As Cordelia placed the cold compress onto his forehead, she tried not to think about how handsome he looked.  
  
Stroking Doyle's cheek, he shifted uneasily underneath her touch. Surprised at the movement, Cordelia stared at him in shock.  
  
"Doyle?" she murmured, uncertainly. "Are you awake?"  
  
Doyle shifted uncomfortably again, knocking part of the blanket to the floor. He began to mumble something too low and incoherent at first for Cordelia to hear.  
  
"Doyle, are you okay?" she asked, concerned. Was he having another vision? "Doyle!"  
  
He didn't respond to her. Instead, she could see his eyes flickering rapidly underneath his closed eyelids. She realized then that he was dreaming and this time she could hear what he was murmuring.  
  
"Cordelia . . ."  
  
"It's okay, Doyle," Cordelia told him, holding his hand to reassure him. "I'm here, everything's okay. Just rest."  
  
" . . . I'm sorry, Princess . . . please forgive me . . ."  
  
His voice trailed off into silence.  
  
Cordelia frowned at him.  
  
"Hey, it's okay," she said, squeezing his hand. "Nothing to be sorry about. Get some sleep, okay?"  
  
Doyle shifted one last time before his hand went limp in hers. By the steady rise and fall of his chest, Cordelia guessed he'd either fallen to sleep or had slipped into unconscious again. Placing Doyle's hand back down, Cordelia stood up and rearranged the blanket over him.  
  
Behind her, Angel entered the room from the service elevator, stopping in the doorway. When she turned to look at him, she noticed instantly that things hadn't gone well with the Powers That Be.  
  
"What did the Oracles say?" she asked.  
  
Angel shook his head, frustrated. "Nothing helpful," he said, bitterly. "They said there was nothing we could do to help him. Doyle has a different destiny to ours and only he can do anything about it."  
  
Cordelia was even less happy with that reason than Angel had been originally. "No, I refuse to accept that," she said, moving protectively in front of the sleeping Doyle. "How can they do this to him? It's not fair."  
  
"I know," agreed Angel, looking towards Doyle to see how it was. "But they refuse to help us or let us know what the vision was about. We're on our own."  
  
"So what do we do?" asked Cordelia, uncertainly.  
  
Angel saw the determination in Cordelia's eyes and couldn't bring herself to tell her that he didn't know. "I'm going to patrol the neighborhood to make sure there's no demonic activities coming our way. Cordy, you stay with Doyle. I don't want him left alone until we've figured out what's going on."  
  
Cordelia nodded in agreement. "I'll phone you if he comes to," she told him.  
  
Angel nodded and once again left the office.  
  
A bright white light flashed through the pain-filled darkness of Doyle's unconscious mind. He felt weightless as he turned to face the white light. At first nothing seemed to happen, then he heard the voice of the female Oracle speak to him.  
  
"Alan Francis Doyle, you have chosen your destiny. Fate smiles down on you tonight. When you awake, you will tell no one of this vision, not even Angel. Do what is right."  
  
With that the voice was gone and the white light vanished. Doyle was left in darkness, once again.  
  
Cordelia sighed in frustration and approaching tiredness. She sat looking through some of Angel's thick dusty books trying to find out something about the Oracles and the Powers That Be. Besides a few vague references about them that she already knew about, her search was turning out to be fruitless. She looked through the open door towards the coach where Doyle remained restlessly asleep. She'd started researching two hours ago when it became obvious that she'd drive herself crazy if she didn't do something other than worry about Doyle. She'd placed another blanket over him as his shivering increased but otherwise his condition hadn't changed. Until now.  
  
Cordelia could hear Doyle murmuring to himself again. Immediately, she got up and rushed into the outer office. The half-demon looked like he was caught in a bad dream, twitching frantically from side to side with beads of perspiration forming on his forehead.  
  
"Shush," soothed Cordelia, picking up the cloth on the side table and gently dabbing his forehead. She moved to sit by him again.  
  
"'Delia," murmured Doyle, softly. "Angel?"  
  
"I'm here, Doyle," reassured Cordelia, putting her hands gently on his chest to stop him from moving. "It's okay; you're okay. Just rest."  
  
His body slowly stopped moving but he still looked at unease.  
  
"Princess?" His voice had a sleepy childlike quality to it that caused Cordelia's throat to hitch in emotion.  
  
"I'm here," she repeated again, softly.  
  
"Stay, please," he murmured, distressed. "Don't go away."  
  
"I promise," replied Cordelia, sincerely. As she spoke, she realized she did indeed mean it. She would never leave Doyle, nor would she allow him to leave her. She couldn't see her life without Doyle in it nowadays. It was a strange but comfortable thought. She took hold of one of Doyle's hands. "See, I'm not going anywhere."  
  
She felt Doyle squeeze weakly at her hand.  
  
"I'm scared," she heard Doyle say so softly that she had to lean forward in order to hear him better. Of what? She thought silently to herself.  
  
"Don't be scared," Cordelia replied, instead. "I'm here, nothing bad's going to happen to you. Me and Angel won't allow it."  
  
For a moment Doyle stayed silent. Cordelia thought he'd drifted back to sleep, when he moved his head in her general direction.  
  
"I love you," he whispered, still holding her hand.  
  
Cordelia was stunned. Did he mean that or was it just crazy talk from being unconscious?  
  
"I love you too, Doyle," she replied, with sudden conviction. She'd never admit it to herself but she did love Doyle. Not at first maybe, but over the months that they'd known one another, his Irish charm had grown on her.  
  
She leaned forwards and planted a gentle kiss on Doyle's lips. She could feel him return her kiss before he fell asleep again. She brushed his hair away from his eyes before resuming her watchful vigil at his side, still holding his hand.  
  
The first rays of dawn were just coming up, when Angel returned from his demon patrol.  
  
He stopped short at the sight in front of him.  
  
Doyle still lay unmoving on the couch, though to Angel he looked like he had a little more colour in his cheeks than before. Perched on the coach, Cordelia had fallen to sleep, twisted in an uncomfortable position with her head resting on Doyle's chest and clutching one of his hands in hers. Angel stood watching, his heart aching for his two friends. He knew that Doyle and Cordelia would make the perfect couple together if only they could admit it to one another and overcome their difficulties. He hoped furtively that Doyle would get better soon. He couldn't stand the tormented worry that both he and Cordelia had for him.  
  
Unwillingly, Angel stepped towards the couple and gently woke Cordelia up. She smiled sleepily at him as she sat up straight. Angel noticed that she still held onto Doyle's hand tightly.  
  
"Hey," she greeted him. "How'd it go?"  
  
"Pretty quiet," replied Angel, pulling up a chair to sit in front of her. "Only two vampires out. How's Doyle?"  
  
Out of habit, Cordelia looked over at the sleeping Irishman first before turning her full attention back to Angel. "Pretty much the same," she replied, sighing. "Though he did seem to wake up a little earlier on."  
  
"Yeah?" Angel prompted, hope coursing through him.  
  
Cordelia nodded. ""Not for long though. He called out for both us and asked me not to leave before falling back to sleep."  
  
Angel could see by the look in Cordelia's eyes that she'd purposely left out some of the details, but decided not to press her on it.  
  
"That's good," encouraged Angel, at least for her sake. "That means he's getting better."  
  
Cordelia managed a wan smile back.  
  
"So research?" she ventured.  
  
Angel was about to reply back when he stopped.  
  
"What?" asked Cordelia, frowning at Angel's behavior.  
  
Then she realized why he'd stopped. He was looking at Doyle. She turned also to find Doyle stirring in his sleep again. She felt Doyle squeeze her hand hard before watching as his eyes flickered open. At first he looked around with unfocused sight before resting on Cordelia and Angel's faces in recognition. Both of his friends leaned over him, in an attempt to see if he was definitely awake. He smiled weakly up at them, reassuring both their worries that he was okay.  
  
"Hey," he greeted them, careful not to move around too much for fear of being sick.  
  
"Hi, Doyle," smiled Cordelia, in relief. She checked the temperature of his forehead and was relieved to find his fever had broken.  
  
"How do you feel?" asked Angel, concerned.  
  
"Better," responded Doyle. "Just tired."  
  
"Then we'll let you sleep," Cordelia said, startling Doyle with the empathy she showed him. "I'll see you when you wake up."  
  
"Thank you, Princess," he replied, sincerely.  
  
She looked at him puzzled for a moment. Why was he looking at her as if he might never see her again? She dismissed the feeling, and stroking his cheek, got up and left the room.  
  
Angel also made to go but stopped. He had an eerie feeling that something wasn't right, that something terrible was going to happen, but he didn't know why. He looked down at Doyle and found Doyle watching him intently with tired eyes.  
  
"I went to see the Oracles when you collapsed," Angel told him, after a moment's silence. "I asked them why this particular vision had so badly affected you. They told me that your destiny ran differently to Cordelia's and mine – but they wouldn't tell me what the vision was about. Do you remember what it was about? Is there evil out there that I should be dealing with?"  
  
Doyle's eyes were haunted as he replied, "No, I don't remember. Evil's out there everyday, Angel, but not for you this time."  
  
Angel thought about it for a moment and then nodded. "I'm glad you're back, Doyle," he told him, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder. "No matter where your destiny takes you, I'm glad you're here with me and Cordy now."  
  
"Me too," sighed Doyle, drifting back into sleep as Angel left the room. "Even if it's just for a short time."  
  
THE END. 


End file.
